


Future to Fix

by AimlessCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, OC, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7111996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AimlessCat/pseuds/AimlessCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I never expected to die early. But I did.<br/>I never expected to be reborn. But I was.<br/>I never expected to find myself at Hogwarts. But then again, this life was full of the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Reincarnation is a Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Giving my shot at this self-insert thing. Comments and suggestions would be much appreciated. Enjoy!

I believed my whole life in God, in Heaven. I expected, hoped, to live a long life, die, and be joined by my loved one's in Heaven. I got none of that. 

I died early, for one, having only reached twenty. It was a stupid death. I remember...I remember being in a coffee shop, wasting time before my volunteer shift at the animal shelter. A man came in, screaming. He had a gun, he waved it, it went off, and all I knew was pain. It was an accident, I was an unintended casualty. People screamed, and I faded in and out, blackness creeping around in my vision. I don’t even know if I made it to the hospital. Stupid.

In the end, I found myself in a field of white, off-white grass and white sky. I wandered for a while, letting my hands skim over the tall, white grass. I don’t know how long I traveled, how long I stayed in that place. But it gave me time to mourn, I suppose. I never got to fill any of my dreams, never got to meet my best friend in person. Never dated, never lived alone, never, never, never. I suppose I should have seen this coming. I was never going to get my dreams, as simple as they were, anyway. What can I say? Depression was like a nose around my neck, always digging into my skin, sucking away what hope I could muster in my better days. But it was over, and now I waited for the God I believed in to come fetch me for judgement. But instead, I was left with only solitude, for days, weeks, or perhaps only hours, or minutes. I honestly lost myself in my place of white, and time had no more meaning. But in all my wandering, in all my searching, I found nothing, that is, until I turned around for the first time and saw a tree. A tree that hadn’t been there before. It was, shockingly, white. However, on its branches, nestled between white leaves, were dozens, upon thousands of red apples.

I knew the story. Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden. I knew what happened when you ate of the fruit of the tree. I sat at the base of the tree, and ignored the fruit as long as I could, until finally my silence was broken by a voice.

“Why do you not eat of the fruit?” I jump, spin around, and before me is a shining figure of light. There are no defining features, nothing but shimmering, soft light. But I know this person is smiling at me, how I knew, I don’t know. But I knew, and I accepted this as fact.

“Are you God?” I ask, standing small before the figure. They cock their head, and chuckle. “No, not I.” My breath catches in my throat. “Is there a God?” I ask instead. “Do you believe in God?” They ask of me in return. My voice comes out in a whisper. “Yes.” I was raised on faith, it was part of me. I did not know who I was without it, could not fathom there not being a God. The figure grows brighter, and I feel as if a thousand suns have smiled on me. “Why do you not eat of the fruit?” The subject is changed, and I know I will find no more answers about God from them. I ponder for a moment, on the question. “I’m afraid.” I say, the truth spilling from my lips softly. “Fear not, no snake is here to trick you. Pick one, and live again.” I blinked, startled. “Live again? Is this….is this reincarnation or something?” I blurt. They say nothing, only gesture to the tree. I turn my attention to the giant tree before me. I know I can’t reach a single red apple without climbing, but I find that when I focus on one apple, the tree itself lowers the fruit down for me so I may consider it. I search for a long time, before I decide on an apple. I walk around the tree, waiting for a pull on my heart to tell me where to go. It never comes, and I am left alone to chance. They are all perfect, all identical. Finally, I take one, dazzling red in this place of white, and walk back to Them. I hold it in my hands like something precious. “Will I come back here, when I eventually die again?” I ask, still staring at my reflection bouncing off the skin of the red apple. “This is not a place of death, but of rebirth. You suffered in life, and you will suffer again, before you face true death.” I look up. “Why? Why me? Is it like this for everyone?” They shake their head. “No. This both a gift, and a burden to bare. I can not say why you were chosen, but you have been, and all that is left is for you to move forward.” 

There is silence. I roll the apple around in my hands.

“Eat of the fruit, and be the tool of change.”

I take a bite, and I am encased by blackness again.

 

This time, the blackness is suffocating, and try as I might I can’t move around to my satisfaction. I am trapped, but my mind is soothed by the occasional voices I hear murmuring to me in soft tones. I settle into my new existence, and try to sleep. It is a drastic change from the White Place, and I can’t say that I like it. The only saving grace is the warm feeling in my chest. It starts out as a tickle, an annoying one at that. But it grows, expanding slowly and filling my body with a warmth I couldn’t explain.

The darkness lasts for eternity, and I try my best to endure. But one day things begin to change, I am moved, shoved from my warm place in the darkness, and I am squeezed all around. It’s honestly terrible, the worst thing I have ever experienced. When I finally find the light, find the air in my lungs again, I cry out, I thrash, I try to see but I find my vision is terrible now, and I am encased in fear. I am passed around, I think, to giants who handle me gently as if I am made of glass. Something comes into my range of vision, and I realise it’s a face. Human in nature, and smiling so wide I fear their face may burst. This man, who holds me has dark brown hair, and grey eyes. He is clean shaven, with a chiseled jaw. He murmured nonsense to me, saying ‘Ellie’ over and over again. I stop thrashing, if only to listen to him and figure out his looks. I’m handed to a woman next, also dark of hair, with a prettily pointed chin and bright blue eyes. They hold me close, and hover around me.

It’s about this time that I realize I’m probably a fucking baby again, and ew gross, that horrible experience was childbirth. My next realisation is that I remember, I remember everything. My life, my death, the White Place. Well, that wasn’t suppose to happen, was it? What’s the point of reincarnation if you remember who you were the first time? I have questions, and this time there is no ‘Them’ around to answer them.

And so it goes, I eat (from bottles, thankfully), I sleep, and I roll around in my own filth until my new parents change me. I spend a lot of time sleeping, and when I’m not sleeping, I’m trying to gain control of my body. It doesn’t work very well, much to my frustration. My time passes, trying to gain a grasp of my new world. I discover that I’m now Ellie Croft, only daughter of Rick and Laura Croft. I find I was born in 1979, on January 27th. My birthday hasn’t changed, only the year. Oh, and the location. I’m now in London, Sutton specifically. Fun.

Honestly, I find the whole reincarnation thing to be a bore. I’m in the past, the world is normal, and nothing is interesting, not even the Catholic church I get dragged to every Sunday. I find I much prefer the non-denominationals from my previous life.  
I ‘develop’ fast for a kid,mostly because of bordeom, and my parents hail me a tiny genius. I don’t fight them on it, and let them take pride in their only daughter.

I’m walking around like a pro by seven months, a bit early but I’m pushing myself as far and hard as my tiny uncoordinated body can go. It stuns my new parents, who brag and show me off to whoever wants to listen. As soon as I can walk, I get started on reading, hunting down whatever books my parents buy and forcing them to read to me whenever possible. It builds up an alibi, and by time I’m twelve months old, I get caught reading on my own, lucky just baby books, mostly because there wasn’t anything else interesting in the house.  
It’s Saturday when it happens, both my parents are in the kitchen talking in low voices about something, and eating lunch well they’re at it, and I’m not interested enough to find out what. Instead, I toddle away from my designated play area in the living room, and make my way to the bookshelf. On the bottom row is a collection of children’s and baby books, all placed just so my tiny hands could reach them at my pleasure. I figure I have a good half an hour before my parents are done, like usual, and well I have my own food to eat on the floor, I am in the mood for some actual reading. Most of the books are for babies, designed for actual one year olds. But there are a few more complicated books, one's my father reads to me before bed. I shuffle through the books, before finally pulling out one I haven’t been read yet. ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’ is the title of the book, and a quick glance on the inside tells me it was written and published in 1968. I shrug, and take my book back to my play area. I settle on the floor, flip the book open, and shove a sliced strawberry into my mouth with my other hand. I settle into reading the little book, content that I’ll have it done and away before my parents are done with lunch, like always, considering how short the book was. It’s a cute little book, and I finish it in record time. I start to get up and it’s as I’m doing that, that I turn and see my parents standing flabbergasted in the doorway. I stare at them for a moment, before looking to the book in my hands, and back to them. 

My father opens his mouth first. “Elli baby, did you read that yourself?” He asks, but my mother shakes her head no. “She’s too young, Rick, she was probably just looking at the pictures.” She said. My father pushes on despite that, “Ellie?” he asks again. I gulp, and give a sheepish grin. I’ve been talking at this point, in simple sentences that astound my family. I think this is part of why my father is more inclined to believe I’d actually been reading. “It was good?” I try, clutching the book to my chest. My father walks forward and kneels before me. “What’s it called Ellie?” he asks. I look away, and mumble it’s name. My father suddenly whoops, and picks me up from the ground in a smooth motion, swinging me around. I drop my book with a squeal. “Daddy!” I cry, but he’s laughing and not paying attention. “She’s a genius Laura! A genius!” My mother only stands in the doorway, watching with tears at the edge of her eyes. I notice that she slips back into the kitchen, well my father’s attention is on pestering me about my ‘new’ reading ability. I try not to think about her lack of affection compared to my joyous father.

I find myself under more scrutiny after that. My father brags and brags, and sometimes when they host dinner parties the adults ask me to read for them, bringing their own little books to test me. It’s like a party trick for them, and I indulge them because my father always gives me strawberries for my efforts. A cookie would have been more appreciated, but my father insists on fruit to keep me healthy. I don’t complain, remembering how rarely my parents would get strawberries in my past life, despite my love for the red berries.  
I suppose I probably should have hidden my more advanced mind from my parents, been more careful, been a more ‘normal’ baby. But it’s boring, and I find I don’t have the patience for it. So I let them believe I’m a genius, and enjoy the fruit I get out of it all.

 

Despite my new father finding out I could read on my own, I still found myself in his lap every night, listening as he read from whatever novel we were working on at the time. It was...strange, to say the least. Learning to love these two strangers as my new parents felt like an impossibility at first.

But ever so slowly, I came around. It started mostly with my father, who picks me up and swings me around every chance he gets, who quickly picks up on our shared love of classic rock and plays the music for me every morning he prepared breakfast, singing along in a relatively decent voice. My...Dad is the one who takes primary care of me, from preparing me in the mornings to feeding me, making sure I have a lunch, and dropping me off at an older womans home, who clearly runs a daycare, during the day until he gets back around 4pm with Mum. He picks me up every day, save weekends when I don’t have to go anywhere, and always asks about my day. He listens with rapt attention as I explain that little Robert Chapman is an idiot whose only good for being a trash compactor for the tomatoes I refuse to eat, because he colors outside the lines and rips pages in books, and Julia Moor isn’t much better because all she does is cry for her mummy and sleep. He treats me not just like a child, but also like a tiny adult. He listens when I say I’d prefer to wear shorts and t-shirts to the classic dresses, he explains things to me in plain and simple terms, and when my emotions get out of check he gives me space to calm down and ask me what’s wrong. Honestly, he doesn’t feel like the kind of parent one would find in the 1980’s. He’s beyond kind, understanding to a fault, and always eager to bring cheer to those around him. He is an intoxicating personality, and I find I accept him as a father, as a Dad, easier then I thought I would.

It’s my mother I have a harder time loving. Both of them work as teachers at the local school, but she has to take time off to go to the hospital all the time, and she acts like she has to keep me at arm's length, despite the clear love in her eyes when she does deal with me and Dad. At first, I wonder if she ever wanted to be a mom at all, and was just going through the motions. I even expected a divorce.  
Instead she dies when I’m four. Dad tells me it’s cancer, and when I lose my temper (that faint, constant warm feeling in my chest turning hotter and wilder) about why she didn’t spend more time with us if she knew, he explains that my mum always knew she was going to die, and thought it would be easier for me to handle if she kept some distance. I throw a tantrum, which only stops when one of the windows unexpectedly explodes in the hospital, showering us with glass. The once boiling feeling in my chest is faint now, but lingering under my skin like a predator. I’m confused, but allow my Dad to fuss over me. I forget the window incident easily, and instead focus on trying to ease some of my Dad’s pain by being a good daughter for him. He puts up a strong front, but I can hear him cry sometimes, late at night when I can’t sleep. I never say anything, but I think he knows that I can hear him, because the next day I’m always extra attentive.

And so our lives go on. I put up with my mates at daycare, and later when I’m accepted into Primary school, I put up with my classmates too. I end up acting as some sort of extra adult in the classroom, taking care of those around me as best I can. I break up fights, sooth over crocodile tears, and share food when I can. I finish all of my work with ease, and impress my teachers left and right. I feel like it’s a false advantage, having my knowledge and using it in the classroom. I’m offered multiple times to skip into higher years, but I convince my Dad to turn down the offer. I do after all, have a bunch of snot nosed brats to take care of in my year. Besides, the extra snack and nap times are a blessing that the higher years don’t have. I tell him maybe next year, everytime it comes up. 

I never end up skipping a grade.

 

 

 

By time I turn 11, the faint warmth in my chest is such a part of my everyday life that I barely notice it anymore. Just, I find it roars to life when my emotions do, but I soothe it as one might soothe a scared animal. I never question what it is, though I wonder. I figure it’s the remains of my reincarnation, and leave it at that. But my world is turned upside down again, one dreary day in February.

I had left the house early that Saturday morning, with my father’s permission, to go down to the bookstore. I have about five pounds on me, the sum of my savings, and I spend my day browsing the shelves for books for my own personal collection, which I had recently decided to make. I end up purchasing the first two books of my new collection: The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring, with the intent on expanding to the rest of the series later when I had the money. I spend what little money I have left on a milkshake from my favorite diner, where I make pleasant conversation with the teenager behind the counter. I walk home alone, enjoying the sunny day and holding my books close to my chest, before I finally reach the flat my Dad and I live in, heading up and walking into our home without a care in the world. 

“Dad! I’m home!” I call out, taking off my trainers in the entryway. 

“Ellie, can you come into the kitchen?” I hear him call, his voice sounds tired, exhausted. I frown, calling back “Just a second!” as I run into my room to put my books onto my bed, and then I walk into the kitchen to where I’m startled by the sight of an older gentleman sitting at the table enjoying tea with my dad. I blink, clearly not expecting the guest. I look to my dad for instruction. He smiles sadly at me, and my heart sinks in my chest for reasons I don’t know. “Take a seat Ellie, let me get you a cuppa, alright?” I nod, and settle myself down into the nearest chair, trying not to stare at our guest.

The man, an older gentleman with gray hair held in a small ponytail, dressed in a nice gray suit with a blue tie. He smiles at me, and introduces himself. “Hello Ellie, I’m Professor Angus Cragg, and I have here an invitation for you from my school.” He said, handing over a letter. I take it just as my dad places a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of me.

I look down at the address of the neat white letter in my hand. 

Ms. E. Croft  
The Smallest Bedroom  
Number 3 Eaton Road  
Sutton, London

I carefully open the letter, and stop breathing.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Croft,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

I blurt out the words before I can think, “Is this a joke?” I say, looking up to my dad with wide eyes. He looks tired, but he shakes his head slowly no. I flip to the next page, and sure enough there’s the list of supplies I’m required to bring. 

“Mr. Cragg here, has been explaining to me a great deal, that magic exists. You’re one of them Ellie, you’re a witch.” I gape at him, and twist around to look at Mr. Cragg again. “Prove it.” He immediately whips out a wand, and to my amazement, my plate of biscuits starts hovering.

I zone out for a moment, staring at that hovering plate. Hogwarts. The mythical school in Harry Potter, the book I was secretly waiting to be published. This didn’t make sense, this couldn’t be true. I thought my world was normal, was the same as before and I was just living in a different time than before. But no, I was clearly in the world of Harry Potter, I had to be. I faintly remember, back in the White Place, Them telling me to be a tool of change, was this what they meant? Faintly, I heard my name being called, and I snapped out of my daze.

“Ellie?” My dad was asking, staring at me with concern. The plate lowered back onto the table. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing, before reaching out to pick up my tea. I took a long sip. “I’m ok. I’m fine. This is fine, everythings ok.” I mutter, much to what looks to be amusement on Mr. Cragg’s face. My dad rubs my back soothingly. “I know this is a lot to take in, trust me, I’m in the same boat as you Ellie.” My dad cracked a smile, and I gulped.

Then I remembered the warmth in my body, and it was a lightbulb moment. 

“Wait, wait, is THAT what the warm feeling is? Magic?” I blurt out, turning to our guest. He looks at me confused for a moment. “What warm feeling dear?” he asks, frowning. “The warm feeling in my chest. It gets kinda...wild? Sometimes? When I get really emotional. I mostly got it in check though.” I say. Mr. Cragg’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops a little bit. “You can feel it? Your magical core? Astonishing! I’ve never heard of something like this before!” He gets excited, brown eyes twinkling. Then he humbles in the next moment. “Oh my, Mr. Croft, I would advise taking Ms. Ellie here to St. Mungo's as soon as it’s convenient, for a check up. It’s rather unheard of for something like this to happen, and it may be best to get it check out to see if there’s any damage to her core.” 

Dad blinked, and then nods determinedly. “Of Course, I assume this is a hospital you speak of?” he asks, and Mr. Cragg nods. “Yes, if you two are free today, I can take you. I have the whole day dedicated to introducing you two to the magical world. Why, we could even get her school supplies if you wish it.” He says. Dad nods, “That would be great. Best get it out of the way.” Then he turns to me, as I take another sip from my tea. “Ellie...why didn’t you ever tell me about this?” he asks softly. 

“The warm feeling?” I ask in return.

“Yes”

“Oh, well, it’s always been there, for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t hurt or anything, so I figured it was normal.” I explain, shifting around in my seat. “Can I go put my shoes on, if we’re going to some hospital?” I ask. Dad nods, waving me off. I finish my tea in one big gulp, and grab the biscuits from the plate, shoving one into my mouth as I rush off back to the door.

My head is reeling, as I eat my biscuits and slip my trainers back on. Harry Potter...the wizarding world. I’m a muggleborn, and I get to go to Hogwarts.Then I get filled with dread, I have to go to Hogwarts. There’s going to be a war, people are going to die in the future. I might die, in the future. Cedric, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks, Fred...all casualties of the war that tugged at our hearts back when it happened in my last life. How could I be expected to do anything about it? What was I going to do? Dumbledore probably wouldn’t want me messing around with his plans and his savior for the wizarding world. Wasn’t this a bitch? I sigh, shoving the last biscuit into my mouth. I suppose I should do something, but I’m not smart enough to know what to do. I suppose I’ll figure something out, but that can wait. There are errands to run. I get up, just as Dad and Mr. Cragg walk into the room, and a question pops into my head. 

“Mr. Cragg?”

“Yes, Ms. Ellie?”

“What subject do you teach?”

“Well, I’m a halfblood. My mother was a witch and my father a muggle, which is a non magical person like your father. Anyway, because of this, I’ve always been interested in bringing both cultures together! I’m the Muggle Studies teacher, it’s a third year elective.” He explained.

I nod thoughtfully. That would explain why I didn’t remember his name. I didn’t exactly have all the teachers names memorized. “Well, how are we gonna get there?”

Mr. Cragg smiled, “Why, by car of course!” He grinned. “St. Mungo’s is located in Central London, in an abandoned muggle building. Should be a breeze to get there. We could apparate, but I’m afraid not only is side-along limited to two people, but muggles like your father can’t. That and it’s generally rather unpleasant until you get used to it.” He explained. After that, we all climbed into Dad’s white Mini and took off for London, after a brief stop at the bank were Dad withdrew everything in my trust fund at Mr. Cragg’s insistence. It was an interesting ride, with Dad and I asking Mr. Cragg all sorts of questions about Hogwarts and the wizarding world. We learned of the classes I would be taking, of currency and the Goblins, and all about Diagon Alley. We also learned, of the general distaste in the magical world for muggles, which was something Mr. Cragg was trying to work out of his students. Dad wasn’t too pleased with everything we learned, but he seemed to be taking everything very well. 

“What kinds of jobs were there in the Magical World?” I asked from the backseat. 

“Well, there are all sorts of things. Working in magical shops or in the Ministry as an official. Auror’s are our version of police. If you’re good enough, there’s being a Quidditch player for any number of teams. Potions masters, Curse breakers, Healers, Dragon keepers, even being a teacher like me!” He smiled over his shoulder.

“What about in the animal field?” I asked. Before my first death, I had been wanting to work at an animal shelter, not just volunteer.

“Hmm…Well, I already mentioned Dragon keepers, but they’re also Magizoologist, who study magical creatures.” He mentioned. 

“What about work like a m-muggle vet?” I pressed. Dad chuckled from his place in the drivers seat, well aware of my constant desire to do anything related to animals. Mr, Cragg nodded thoughtfully. 

“Already have an idea of what you want to be, hmm?” I shrugged. “Well,” he said, “I suppose the you could become a MagiKeep.” I blinked, cocking my head to the side. “MagiKeep?” Mr. Cragg nodded. “A Magical Keeper, think of them like a zookeeper. Sometimes, Magizoologists run into hurt or orphaned creatures, or particularly aggressive beasts. These animals are then collected and taken to ‘The Hub of Beasts and Magical Creatures’, or just ‘The Hub’ for short. It’s Magical Britian’s only ‘zoo’ so to speak. They’re taken care of, and are researched in captivity by less adventurous Magizoologists. Quite a fun place, actually.” He said, and I nodded happily. 

I wanted a plan, a goal for this magical world. In my last, I hadn’t known what I wanted to be for a long time, and it caused me grief. This time, I wouldn’t make that mistake. A MagiKeep sounded cool, and it would allow me to be around animals, well, magical animals, as much as I wanted. Sounded like a good deal to me. “What do you have to do to become a MagiKeep?” I asked, but Mr. Cragg’s sheepish look told me before he even spoke that he didn’t know.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite know. I’ve always been more passionate about culture, myself.” He said. Before looking forward, and turning to my dad. “Right up here, Mr. Croft.” He said. It took a few minutes to find a parking spot, but then we all clambered out of the Mini and onto the sidewalk. Mr. Cragg handed my dad a ring, which I noted resized itself on his finger. “So you’ll be able to enter.” Was all Mr, Cragg said about the ring.

We ended up walking to a department store, red bricked and under renovations. The name said ‘Purge and Dowse, Ltd’. Wasn’t a very pretty name, now was it. Well I was making faces to myself, Mr. Cragg had apparently made small talk with one of the mannequins. Next thing I knew, we were walking through a window into St. Mungo’s. I gaped like a fish out of water. It looked like a regular hospital, all white and clean, except instead of nurses outfits, the wandering staff had on green robes. Personally, I didn’t really see the appeal of robes, when casual clothes were so much more appealing. Mr. Cragg lead us up to the reception desk, were a young woman sat working. She was blonde and green eyed, and her nameplate read ‘Cloreece Hapgen’. When we reached her desk, she looked up and smiled at us. “Welcome to St. Mungo’s, how can I help you?”

“This young lady here needs her magical core checked, please.” Mr. Cragg said. The woman, Cloreece, nodded. “Name and date of birth please.” This time it was dad who spoke up. “Ellie Croft, Janurary 27th, 1979.” He said. The woman wrote it down on some paperwork, and, as if to start up casual conversation, asked: “Ah, starting Hogwarts soon then?” 

“Yes ‘mam.” I said, cheerfully, bouncing on my heels. Dad looked down fondly at me, though he still looked tired. I returned his smile, and knew we’d be having a long chat when we got home. 

After being redirected to the waiting room, we all settled into chairs to await a healer. It didn’t take long before another woman, in green robes and hat, collected us and brought us all into a room. 

“Now, what seems to be the problem?” She asked. 

After briefly looking at eachother, Dad motioned for Mr. Cragg to speak. “Ms. Ellie here described a warm sensation in her chest, that acted up when she got upset and whatnot. I was afraid it was something with her core?”

“Hmm...most strange. Alright, Ms. Ellie is it? Well, stand up right here, yes that’s good, now hold still.” With that, she waved her wand at me and I shivered, a distinctly different type of warmth invading her, poking and prodding at her own warmth before retreating. It was a rather unpleasant feeling.

“Well, structurally her core seems fine. Average size for her age, by the way. Most intriguing, though, as it seems her core is rather sensitive. You say you feel a warmth, dear?” She asked, looking me up and down.

“Yeah, it’s warm. Sometimes I think it’s like an finicky animal in my chest, acting up when I do. Does that make sense?” I ask, looking up at her helplessly. The witch nodded, and made a few notes at her desk. 

“My best guess then, dearies, is that Ms. Ellie here is rather sensitive to magic. It’s not common, but occasionally children will come in for reasons such as this. Nothing to worry about, nothing at all.” She smiled, and quickly ushered us out, repeatedly assuring us that it was no matter to be worried over. After that, we exited St. Mungo’s and got back into the Mini. Giving Dad new address, this time for ‘The Leaky Cauldron’, we were off. 

It didn’t take long for us to reach our destination. We walked in, and towards the back were Mr. Cragg taught me the combination to get in, and next thing we knew, we were entering Gringotts. I looked around in awe, taking in the large white building. It seemed like there were hundreds of Goblin tellers, lined up and taking customers. Mr. Cragg lead us down the aisle til we reached an open teller, where he allowed Dad to take over. 

“Just like opening an account in the muggle world.” He had said, right before allowing Dad to take control for the first time since entering the Wizarding world.

Dad walked up to the teller, me easily on his heels. “Hello!” He greeted cheerfully, though I could tell from the angle of his smile that he was working hard at appearing cheerful. “I’d like to open an account for my daughter.” He told the golbin, Sharppoint, from the nameplate. The Goblin scowled. 

“Very well! I will need a drop of your daughter’s blood. Name?” He asked, as he pulled out a contract and a quill. Dad had pailed at the request for my blood, so I stepped up to help. “Ellie Croft! E-l-l-i-e C-r-o-f-t.” I said, standing on my tiptoes to get a good look. He had long, boney fingers and a bald domed head. Pointed ears and wrinkly, grey skin. He was dressed impeccably though, in a white shirt and black vest, with a small black cloak over his shoulders. “Hand.” He requested, grumpily, holding out his own without looking up from his paperwork. Gathering my courage, an easy task due to Dad’s gentle hand landing on my back for support, I held out my hand and placed it in the long fingers of the Goblin. His grip became hard, holding my hand over the paper, before he took out a long, sharply pointed quill. Grasping my fingers tightly, he pressed the sharp quill into my pointed, and pressed down sharply, cutting across my finger. I flinched, and watched as a drop of blood fell down onto the paper, which resulted in some shimmering paper much to Dad and my amazement. Well we were staring at the paper, Sharppoint had bandaged my hand up in a flash, and released my hand. I pulled it back quickly, resisting the childish urge to ‘kiss’ it better. 

“Alright, how much will you be depositing today?” This was Dad’s cue, who took out his bank envolpe, and much to my surprise, handed over five hundred pounds.I gaped. “Dad! That’s too much!” I whispered furiously. Money was often tight for us, and I couldn’t imagine Dad giving up that much money for me in this new bank. 

He looked down at me, eyes soft. “I’ve been saving that since you were a baby. It’s been yours your whole life, just waiting for you to be old enough to claim it. I didn’t think we’d be needing it this soon, but I’m afraid we’ll be living in different worlds now. And it will be used to purchase school supplies.” He explained gently. I flushed, looking away. Dad ruffled my short boyish hair, and we left it at that. 

Sharppoint coughed, and we both looked up and focused our attention on him. “Your balance comes out to165 Galleons, 15 Sickles, and 20 Knuts. Would you like to take any of it out today?” He asked. This is where Mr. Cragg came back in. “Yes, 65 Galleons.” He piped up. Looking at Dad, he nodded. “You’ll need it for shopping.” He explained. 

“Can I have the sickles and knuts too?” I asked. “That way it’ll be an even hundred in the bank, and I can buy extra books not on the list!” I explain, looking at Dad pleadingly. His grey eyes meet my grey eyes, and he sighed dramaticly. “Alright. 65 galleons and the change, please.” He told the banker. 

Sharppoint nodded. He left for a moment, but came back with a pouch. “First time account openers get a complimentary Moleskin pouch. It’s got anti-theft goblin charms in it, and it’s expandable on the inside. I would suggest not losing it, as it costs 5 galleons to replace.” He handed the pouch over to dad. “Your vault is number 1117. Here is your key.” He handed dad a large, gold colored key next. “Lose it, and you’ll need to shed blood for the test to get another.” The goblin gave a wicked grin, as if to hone the point in. 

Dad attached the pouch to his belt, and shoved the key away into his pocket. We left after that, going on our shopping trip.

The first stop, was to pick up a trunk. We followed Mr. Cragg to ‘Ambles Trunks’, and when shifted through the second hand trunks, we came across a nice, black trunk in good condition with brass fastenings. It looked nice, without wear and tear. We purchased it for 3 galleons, and Mr. Cragg shrunk it down for us. Then it was off, to the rest of our shopping.

We got the standard 3 robes, and 5 sets of under-robe uniforms. When asked about ties, Madam Malkin explained that each year she set a stock of ties to the school, to be distributed to new students once they discovered their houses. I rather disliked the pointed hat, and luckily it was optional, so we passed on it.  
Then it was to the shops to get a cauldron, scales, phials, and a telescope. We even picked up a personal supply of potions ingredients, for independent brewing practice, at Mr. Cragg’s advice. The bookstore was my favorite shop. 

As Dad and Mr. Cragg gathered my school books, I wandered around the cheap paperback section, looking for books to add to my new collection. I grab ‘Hairy Snout, Human Heart’ by an Anonymous Werewolf for 4 sickles, and turn my attention to the muggle book section. I find that the books in this section are a bit cheaper. I don’t question it, and grab the the other two books in the Fellowship of the Ring series. I also find Ender’s Game, and Speaker of the Dead, two books from my favorite series in my last life. I grin, happy to have them back. It won’t be for a while until the next two books come out. Making a quick count in my head, I come out to 12 sickles and 6 knuts for the purchase of my books. I decide to cut it off there, and trot off to find Dad and Mr. Cragg. When I find them, they are looking over some books in the culture section. Looking closely, I can see my school books in their basket. I wander over, just as Mr. Cragg hands Dad a book on being a muggle parent in the wizarding world, which I can deduce from the title ‘Muggle Parenting in A Magical World’. 

“I’m done Dad!” I say, as I step in beside him. He looks down, ruffling my hair. “Whatcha get, Ellie?”

“I found a book about a real-life werewolf! Aaand there was muggle section, for cheaper then the bookstore in Sutton, so I got the rest of Tolkins books, and these cool sci-fi books, which is surprising, because apparently the authors American! Which isn’t bad, but really I’m excited to read them.” I babble, holding my books in one hand and gesturing with the other. Dad laughs, holding up his book. 

“I get a fun new parenting book!” He says, and I snort. 

“Like you need to know how to parent, you’re already pretty great.” I say, elbowing him gently. 

“Well, never hurts to try to be better, now does it?” He says, and with that, it’s off to the counter to pay. The school books cost the most, each at least a galleon. When it’s totaled, it comes out to 15 galleons, 12 sickles, and 6 knuts. Mr. Cragg, as he’s done for all our purchases, shrinks them and places them in the bag he’s brought along.

“Wand then?” Mr. Cragg asks. 

“How about a cat first?” I wiggle my eyebrows. Dad snorts this time. 

“Ellie, I don’t know about that. Especially not in your first year. A cat is a lot of responsibility, and so many things will be changing for you.”

“True! But what’s a witch without a familiar?!” I complain, as we walk back out onto the street. “Black cats are traditional!” I cry. I turn to Mr. Cragg. “Right? Back me up here.” 

Mr. Cragg looks amused. “Actually, it’s more common for students to get Owls. Much more useful, sending letters and whatnot.” I groan. 

Dad looks thoughtful for a moment. “Owls for letters?” He asks, confused. Mr. Cragg nods.

“Absolutely. Been used for generations to send letters. Owls are both smart and magical, and most wizarding families have one. Faster than muggle mail, and owls can find anyone, even if only given a name. In fact, it will probably be the only way for the two of you to communicate during the school year. Of Course, the school provides owls for students use, however this is only for the school year but if you wish to send your friends letters during the summer, you’ll be out of luck. They’re also extremely easy to care for. Well food can be provided, most families let their owls hunt for themselves. Just open the window for them, give them a perch and water bowl, and you’re good.” Dad looks delighted with this new information. I am less than pleased, as I was quite set on a cat. Sure, I was a dog person, but cats were great too.

“This sounds like a sales pitch.” I complain, kicking the ground as we reach Ollivanders.I stop, breathing heavily as I stare at the shop. I was getting a wand, and finally was I going to know what kind of wand it was going to be. Back in my last life, everyone wanted to know their Hogwarts house, and well I did so as well, I also desperately wanted to know my wand and what it meant, the meaning behind it’s unique construction. I always wanted to know what it said about me.

Mr. Cragg stepped back, gesturing for Dad and I to go in. “Go on now, this is a family type of moment. I’ll wait out here. Don’t be surprised if a few things blow up, happens all the time.” He said. 

Dad, predictably, looked a tad bit mortified. I grabbed his hand with my own, and pulled him along into the store.

Ollivanders was filled with small boxes, stacked one upon another, high up to the ceiling, in a rather precarious fashion. The room was casting long shadows, caused by the yellow lights. All in all, it was rather intimidating. An old man came out from the backroom only moments after the bell had rung, signaling our entrance.

Ollivander had wild, white hair, which stood up at all angles like he’d been electrocuted. He dressed neatly, in long black robes with a red vest and a cravat. 

“Now now, two unfamiliar faces in my shop? Always a pleasure, to be sure, to see new families brought into our world. Your name?” The man greeted, a twinkle in his eye. 

“Ellie Croft, and this is my dad, Rick.” I say, squeezing my dad’s hand tighter one more time before letting go and stepping forward.

“A good name, one I won’t forget. Now! Onto business shall we? Which is your wand hand?” He asked, walking over to a stack of boxes. “Right, sir.” He debated over two boxed, before putting them both back and pulling out a third box, and bringing it over. “Try this, Redwood with a dragon heartstring, 10 inches and quite rigid!” He said, as he pulled the wand out of the box. It was a pleasant reddish brown color, with a slightly darker handle. I reached out, and took the wand from him. Immediately I felt cold seep into my palm, tingling away as it reached for my magic. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and well I would have bet money on it not working properly, I gave it a wave anyway. 

The box in Ollivander’s hand burst into flames. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit fazed as he dropped the box and pulled out his own wand, to put out the fire. 

“No no, no good.” He said, ripping the wand from my hand and placing it on the counter as he wandered around his shop. “I have a feeling, Ms. Croft, that you’ll be a tricky customer.” With that, he started collecting boxes, gathering around six or seven before returning. One by one, wands went into my hand, each feeling different in my palm, and one by one each wand caused havoc in Ollivanders shop. 

He looked positively gleeful, plucking the latest wand, Vine and Phoenix feather, from my hand. Slipping into one of the rows, Ollivander climbed onto one of the ladders in his shop, and plucked a black box from the tippy top of one of the stacks.

He came back rather confidant. I would guess with each failed attempt he gained more insight into the witch or wizard. Opening the box, he pulled out a whitish wand, handing it over rather gently.

Immediately I knew this was my wand. It tingled in my hand, my magic rushing up through my arm to connect with the heavy feeling magic seeping from the wand. It felt amazing in my hand, the mixing magic swirling through my body as if it were dancing. I waved it, feeling the magic pour out of me for the first time, which immediately formed into shimmering grey sparkles. I was in awe.

Ollivander looked positively smug. “I knew it! This wand has chosen you, Ms. Croft. Alder wood, with unicorn hair. 12 inches, and quite bendy! Most curious infact, that this wand should have chosen you.”

Still on a high from being chosen by my new wand, I didn’t worry when Ollivander called it curious. Dad however, was interested in finding out what was so curious about my new wand.

“And why is that, Mr. Ollivander?” He asked, his hand coming down onto my shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Why, the Unicorn that gave the hair for that wand was most peculiar indeed. The creature was on the brink of death, and infact passed away right before my eyes. Only, after a few moments it came back to life, renewed and most willing to part with a single hair. Most curious indeed.” 

I felt dread wash over me, as I gaped first at Ollivander and then at my new wand. The connection was obvious, and from the look in Ollivanders eyes I would almost guess that he knew something now, about me and my reincarnation. But he said nothing, and moved onto matters of payment with Dad, who agreed to also purchase a wand serving kit and a holster. I held onto my wand tightly, becoming familiar with the new feeling of my magic. It felt stronger now, and it was easier to sooth and reign in.

Putting on my new holster, I tucked my wand away, and walked back out onto the street with Dad, back to Mr. Cragg who had been patiently waiting for us. He smiled happily at me. “Well?” He asked. 

With a flourish, I pulled my wand out and showed it to him, the light colored wood gleaming in the sunlight. “Alder and unicorn hair!” I declared for him, grinning. He clapped politely. He pulled out his wand, soft brown in color with a slightly darker handle. “Hornbeam and Phoenix feather!” He stated proudly. We shared grins.

After that, we all went back to The Leaky Cauldron, as it was getting later on in the evening and we were all quite hungry. Dad and Mr. Cragg both got Lamb and Pea pie, well I got a Steak pie. Together we had an enjoyable dinner, before we all headed back to our flat, where Mr. Cragg enlarged all our purchases, and kindly helped me pack everything away neatly.

After that, it was time for our goodbyes.

“It’s been pleasant, Rick, Ellie. Now remember, you can get a head start on reading, but you can’t mess with your wand or potions. You mustn't tell anyone about this, alright?” He said, looking straight at me. I have him a salute. 

With that, Mr. Cragg left our flat and disappeared.

And with that, my introduction to the wizarding world was complete.


	2. Reality of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I hit one instance of writers block, and it halts me for months. Honestly, I need a beta. Maybe one day, right? Anyway, it's short, but it's something, so take it.

Dad and I dived head first into the wizarding world. I wasn’t allowed to use my wand, true, but that didn’t stop me from pulling out all my books and studying them. I knew that entering the wizarding world would be a change, I knew too much and too little at the same time. I aimed to fix that, and Dad? Well, he wanted to know everything he could about the world he would be sending his daughter too. 

We started with ‘A History of Magic’ by Bathilda Bagshot. Or, at least, Dad did. He took my history book, and his parenting book, and spent a lot of time familiarizing himself with both texts in his free time. From the parenting book, he learned of magical culture and how it was different from non-magicals, well the history book taught him why those cultural aspects existed.  
Meanwhile, I grabbed ‘Magical Theory’ by Adalbert Waffling, and began studying.

To summarize, magic was, by definition: The force by which changes are made. 

Relatively simple, all things considered. Magic was a semi-sentient part of nature, present in all forms of plants and fungi. Yet, at the same time some plants, such as various tree’s, were considered non-magical. This was because there simply wasn’t enough magic present within the thing to have any special properties. It was the same with living creatures. Owls for one, were one such example of magic picking and choosing who it inhabited. Muggle owls were fairly stupid, despite being brilliant hunters. They’re brains were small, and were rather unremarkable. Magical owls on the other hand, had magic infesting their brains, giving them greater intelligence and the magical properties of being able to seek out anyone in the world who had enough magic within them, and travel far greater distances than any normal animal.

Humans were another example. Magicals had a core, a dense shape of magic that grew with the witch or wizard it was connected too, usually located within the sternum. Not all magical cores were the same, some larger, smaller, more temperamental or shy. It was theorized to much like a parasite, attaching itself to the host soul and providing its power in exchange for a place to live. Magic was thought to exist on a separate plain of reality invisible to our own, and always trying to cross over. It crossed the plain via a “conductor” present in all living beings. However, some beings, such as muggles and regular owls, had their conductor ‘switched’ off, therefore not allowing the magic to implant itself within them. It worked rather like a cork, plugging up the hole, while still allowing for the occasional leak which would explain why faint, miniscule traces of magic were found in muggles, allowing magic to be used on them, despite not being able to use it themselves. This is thought to be the main difference between muggles and magic users. One was gifted the glory of being a host for magic, and one was not.   
The book went on to explain that the conductor was usually passed from parent to child, however it could occasionally be found to be switched on in a muggleborn child, or switched off in a squib child. Why this was, nobody knew.

I meanwhile, thought it was because of genetics. The conductor was clearly a gene of some sort. Witches and Wizards probably carried a ‘mm’ gene. Muggles probably carried ‘Mm’, ‘mM’ and ‘MM’ genes. When two ‘muggles’ of the ‘Mm’ and ‘mM’ reproduced, there was a faint chance to produce a ‘mm’ child, thus a muggleborn. Squibs born to pureblood families were probably the result of inbreeding, causing a mutation of the gene.

As for how magic worked, well that could be explained rather simply. Magic sought out magic. When casting a spell, it was like sending a set of instructions to the target. When the spell connected, it sought out whatever magic was in the target, be it a core or faint traces, and used that to change the properties. For spells that didn’t have a target, like the shielding charm, the magic you were sending out instead latched onto the magic in the air. The shielding charm in particular, latched onto the magic in the air with instructions to repel any foreign magic. The exception was the Killing Curse, which couldn’t be blocked by by any form of shielding charm. It was unknown why this was so, but nobody was willing to cast the curse in order to study it.  
Potions on the other hand, combined magical plants and substances to create a powerful “liquid” spell. The combination and preparation of the ingredients changed it’s magical nature, and when a potion was ingested, the unique properties of the potion interacted with the magic of the wizard to produce the desired results.

Wands weren’t entirely necessary. It was true that wandless, wordless magic was possible, though it was very hard. First magic had to get past the skin, which was in fact a fantastic insulator when it came to magic, and then it had to be directed and controlled through the power of the mind and one's will to do the job you wanted it to do. Saying the spell was like telling a dog a command, one that had been taught to magic and that magic recognized, given that it was partially sentient. Wands, meanwhile, were powerful tools of conduction. By using parts of inherently magical creatures and plants and combining them through the art of wandcrafting, a conductor was created. It was uniquely suited to directing and controlling the flow of magic because it itself was inherently magical. When in the hand of a witch or wizard, it’s powerful magic sought out the magic of the wizard, bypassing the resistance of skin in order to connect to the magic of the host, which was uniquely compatible to that of the wand. Ollivanders saying that the wand chooses the wizard was true, the type of connection between the two magics was critical for how the magic flowed out. Did it mix well and provide the desired result? Or did it resist and cause backfire? It was all about compatibility between the witch and the wand, much like the compatibility between two people.

The whole subject of theory was interesting, and explained a lot about how the mysterious power worked. I took time to explain my findings with Dad over breakfast one morning, and he was thoroughly enchanted by the whole thing, and in turn told me of his findings from his research.

A long time ago, magicals and ‘muggles’ DID live in harmony, but rising tensions on both sides caused conflict. The muggles fear, and the wizards prejudice. So very early on in history, the two started warring, which eventually lead to the separation of the two societies, and the hiding of the wizarding world.

Wizards generally were much in awe of magic itself, and treated it almost like a deity, swearing by it and to it. Unlike religion in the ‘muggle’ world, there were no churches or religious texts or anything of the sort. It was more like a ‘fact’ in the wizarding world. Magic was alive, and the most powerful thing in the world. If you broke an oath sweared on magic, it would be taken away from you. As such, practically the entire society was based around it. Advancements in the society were all magical in nature. The wizarding history held confirmation of the Arthurian Legend, focusing on the legacy of Merlin, progressing through the founding of Hogwarts, Grindelwald, and through the first Wizarding War.

Dad was pretty disappointed that the book basically only told the history of the British Wizarding World. Given he was a history teacher, he was miffed. When he was miffed, he paced around the kitchen, usually when we were cooking.

“It’s absurdly arrogant ‘L!” Dad said, waving the wooden spoon in the air as he tended to some onion gravy on the stove. “The book is a ‘History of Magic’! Not a ‘History of Magic in Britain!’ What about the rest of the world? Asia? Africa? South America?! The whole world is full of bright and colourful cultures! It’s a crime not to mention any of it!” He fumed. 

I snorted in amusement, as I did some homework on the kitchen table, letting the potatoes on the stoves finish boiling, before I took over mashing them for supper. “Come on Dad, they don’t even have any electronics, and it doesn’t seem like they’re making any plans on getting electricity!” I complained. “The Gameboy is coming out here in September! Everything I’ve read states that magic disrupts electricity, but there is no mention of any attempt to somehow make it work!” I scribbled in the last answer, and filed the finished homework away where it belonged, to be taken to school. “Not to mention, none of the books I was supposed to get have anything to do with what classed I’d be taking at my current school. And I KNOW you’ve noticed that.” I say, checking on the potatoes as Dad prepares to take the meatballs from the oven.

"Oh, well, I’ve already had some thoughts on that. I can see about getting some packets made up, so you can keep current on your studies well at school.” He said, as I scooted around to let him take the meatballs out as I hefted the pot to the sink to drain.

“Doubling up on school? Well going through a trial by fire in a whole new society?” I groan. That would be sooo fun. It’s not like I didn’t graduate high school the FIRST time around, though to be fair Dad didn’t know that.

“Well, it’s either double up well at ‘Hogwarts’, or you work during the summer.” Dad said simply. Ooooh, damn him. That was a good point.

“Sometimes I forget how I got so smart, then you go and make a stupid point like that.” If I mashed the potatoes with a bit more force than necessary, then the only proof was Dad’s smug smile when he started to set the table.

We spent dinner further discussing my impending transfer, and things we could do over the summer before school started, that worked around Dad’s summer job. By time we were doing dishes, which was Dad’s rule because I did best with routine, the simpler topics of conversation had petered out. Dad was drying and I was scrubbing away at the pans, and my thoughts were a mess, the only distraction being the music coming from the radio Dad turned on.

I had avoided the serious thoughts about the magical world, in favour of pursuing more fun ones, like answering questions about magic itself and learning about the world I suddenly found myself in.

The world whose future I had burned into my memory from a past life. 

A future of war, of loss. A world that would slowly descend into fear and chaos, a war that would put children on the frontlines.   
I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what I could do. Hell, I remembered the major plot points and such, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what year Harry Potter got to school. I read the fanfics of Harry Potter, and to my shame I never got the chance to read the books themselves, much less watch all the movies.

I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t ready. I was an adult in mind and child in body, who came from a background of nowhere, in both worlds. My aspirations were simple in life.

I was an interloper in this world, I wasn’t the one who had been chosen to save it, and that wouldn’t change.

I had been placed in this world by fate, and the only reasonable reason was to be able to change the outcome, make it better. But that would be fighting the fate of this world.

Fate vs. Fate.

I didn’t like the sound of that.


	3. Out of the Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was glancing around at 3am, and realized there was 6 months time between the first two chapters of this. Then I realized it was about ANOTHER 6 months. So I fetched this, decided it was good enough as is, and plopped it here. Let's hope it doesn/t take another 6 months for a chapter next time.

I wasn’t ready when it came time to board the train for Hogwarts. My last year at my ‘muggle’ school had finished with little fanfare, the summer was spent trying to make as many memories with my father as we could, which included a routine eye exam, which ended up with me getting some glassed for my long distance vision, which apparently wasn’t the best anymore. I had some nice, black glassed, with square frames. I joked I could look like a librarian, if I had hair long enough for a bun. Aside from that, there was more reading into my new school books, more looking out the window at a world that could burn to ash if I messed up. I spent a long time, laying in my bed late at night, holding my wand in my hand. 

I knew that magic was alive, to a degree. It chose things, changed things. My wand had chosen me, that I knew. I felt...compelled, almost, to treat it as more than just some tool that could be used whenever I wanted. So, when my worries overwhelmed me and I couldn’t sleep, I would fetch my wand, and hold it in one hand, clenched fist resting over my heart as I laid back and closed my eyes. I could feel the heavy magic from my wand creep down my arm, mixing with my own, until we were connected. I ended up trying some breathing exercises from my past life. I breathed in through my nose, imagining, and eventually actually moving the magic within me. It started at the nose, swirling gray smoke in my mind's eye, flowing to where my brain would be, then down my body through the arms and to the legs. Then I held it, the mixed magic feeling like a heavy, warm blanket over my body. Then, I breathed out, releasing it in the same way it had come. Up the legs, past the arms, through the chest to the brain, and out the nose where it disappeared back into my body, relaxing. I was leaning on my wand, in a way. Leaning on it like a trusted friend to steady myself against from the worries of the world, much like I had once leaned on a combination of pills to keep my mind in as steady of a state as I was able to manage. I could have sworn, that sometimes the magic from my wand purred a little, as it connected with me.

What must it be like? To be a wand? To be loyal to a wizard or witch, even as they treated you as nothing other than a tool for their own purposes? After a while, the thought of treating my wand like anything other than a companion was idiotic. I could feel it humming with its own kind of life. I took comfort in it, and I would like to think it appreciated the attention. I would always carefully place the wand back in it’s box on my nightstand before I fell asleep, lulled into a sleepy daze by the feel of the magic. It was always with a brief apology, but I didn’t want to roll over it and risk anything happening to it. I think it understood.

Maybe this was all in my head. Maybe I was giving human or animal characteristics and feelings on an inanimate object who didn’t know or care. But I couldn’t believe that, no matter how hard I tried. I had felt something far to alive to dismiss, far too many times as I was calming myself to believe it to be anything other than sentient. There was too much in this world I didn’t know or understand, to simply push this thought aside as nothing more than a figment of my imagination. After all, the whole world of Harry Potter had once been a figment of someone else’s imagination to.

I like to believe we became friends, over the course of those nights. It seemed silly, but was what I believed. Magic was more than I ever thought it was, back when I was simply enjoying this world in the form of a book. It was more alive, more real, than anything else to me.  
When it came time to leave home and go to Hogwarts, I knew no matter what happened, at least my wand was on my side. I decided to simply refer to my wand as Alder, instead of just ‘wand’. I wanted to respect it...him? Yes. It was a him, I thought. 

 

  
The day when it came time for me to leave, Dad and I focused on being excited, rather than sad. We sang along to our favourite songs, prepped a bagged lunch for me, and laughed at all the jokes we could make. We packed the car and drove with the windows down, radio playing at a comfortable volume. All of my things were packed neatly in my truck, which we has put some wheels on, and a detachable, long handle so I could roll it behind me. It was mostly done by taking apart an old, raggedy rolling suitcase Dad had, that was on the verge of being thrown out. It was a fun project during the summer.

Soon enough, we came across the little sign for Platform 9 and 3/4th. I moved to press a hand through the pillar, and it slipped through. Dad tried, but he couldn’t do it. We stood there, looking first at the pillar and then at each other. We were in no hurry, having got here early by at least half an hour. We hadn’t thought about Dad being able to get into the platform until now.

“I guess this is it, kiddo.” Dad’s smile had turned shaky. I suddenly realized I was afraid, to be leaving him behind here. My wand thrummed to me, from inside my hidden holster.

“You’re gonna be ok without me, right?” I asked, looking up into his subtly worn looking face. He seemed so much older, in this moment. “You’re going to remember to have get a cuppa tea when you’re working? And a snack? And, and remember that Mrs. Wirsenbucker likes almond cookies, not sugar cookies, and her birthday is coming up and and-” I was blabbering now, but Dad cut me off with a hand on my shoulder. I stopped, looking up at him, eyes watering a bit.

He hugged me, and we stayed like that for a few moments. We didn’t often hug like this, simply because despite both being cuddly by nature, I simply couldn’t handle too much physical contact at a time. This hug was enough for both of us, I think, because when we pulled away, I felt much better, and he looked more relaxed now.

I walked through the barrier with confidence, and into a whole new world.


	4. Train Carts

Let me preface this, by saying that up until this point in both my lives, the extent of my interaction with trains was trying to count every single train car as they passed when I was in the car. 

Stepping through the barrier onto Platform 9 ¾’s was absolutely insane. Sure, the platform wasn’t as busy as the one I just left, but THIS platform was absolutely teeming with obvious looking wizards and witches. Robes seemed to become the prefered wardrobe style for about half the people here, some even had pointed hats. Floating trunks following behind parents and their children, cages with owls or cats filled the air with animal sounds, even the occasional toad could be heard over the hum-drum. Not many of them seemed to be actually boarding, tho a few were. Most seemed to be hanging around talking with each other. Groups of kids and teens all huddled together messing around before they had to get onto the train, many of which did so by running around.

The atmosphere seemed far less chaotic and rushed then what it always seemed in the books or movies. Probably because I was here early, and not perpetually late like the Weasley’s. That being said, when I was the youngest of four kids my family could never seem to leave on time, so I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a family of seven kids. 

 

I knew I caught a few strange looks from who I could only assume were purebloods, probably due to my rolling trunk. I didn’t pay it much mind, rolling my way down the platform, eyes glued to the train in wonder. It was a brilliant red, and so much better in person than anything the movie could have portrayed. I felt the urge to reach over, and brush my fingers along it’s side. I was hesitant at first, but the urge was strong and I couldn’t resist it. My breath almost caught, as my fingers trailed along the side of the train as I made my way to the compartments. The second my skin touched the metal of the train, I could feel it. The train’s magic. Just like with my wand, I could feel it’s magic reach out, trying to move past the insulating properties of my skin. I was distinctly reminded of when I would brush my hand over the old-fashioned tv-screens as a kid, to whip away the dust, and the static would cling and cause a shock for the next time I touched metal. It was as fun now, the magic of the train tingling my fingers were I went, as it had been when I was a kid for the first time. Man, the castle was going to be badass, wasn’t it?  
I took my hands away, the magic of the train slipping away from me as I focused on lifting my heavy truck up the steps, and into its designated spot in the compartment I had chosen after I had retrieved a few things from within. 

Things for me calmed for a while after that. I settled into my compartment, pulled out what I had prepared for the train ride, and settled down to read one of my non-school books, since I had done so much pre-school reading already. I did have the first few weeks of scheduled homework for my “home schooling” from Dad, but I wasn’t going to bother with that for a few days at least. There would be so many new things and new changes in the upcoming days that I didn’t need the stress of regular homework to add to the list. In my last life, anxiety would have been overwhelming me by now, but instead I could only feel flickers of it. I wondered, worried really, if my anxiety would come back for me in full force once more when I reached majority. For now, not currently needing medications to keep me steady, I focused on distraction and breathing and that was enough. I sprawled out, snuggling into my seats and flipping pages of my book as I zoomed through them, word being absorbed like water into sand. At least this, words on pages, fictional worlds for me to sink into, would never change. My wand was set snug in it’s holster, it’s magic humming with something akin to delight. Comfortably nestled, I waited for the inevitable.

 

It took twenty minutes before the doors to my compartment opened.

 

 

 

 

It was a boy. He was already in robes, the green tie of Slytherin neatly done for all to see. His hair was set in what seemed to be a classic side-part, with the beginnings of a square jaw taking hold of his face. Brown eyes looked at me, still sprawled out like the cat who ate the canary, and he moved to close the door again. I moved faster.

“Hey, want a biscuit?” I asked, gesturing to the container on the seat opposite me. The boy paused, seemingly debating with himself.

 

“What kind?” He sounded about as gruff as a prepubescent little boy could, but he was eyeing the box with interest. Hook, line and sinker. I had to hold back a grin. 

“Weeeell, that depends on what you want.” I shifted, getting up and reaching out to take the box, opening it for him as he came in, and settled his trunk down. “I have some peanut butter, a couple chocolate, almond, sugar, and some iced pumpkin.” I loved a good excuse to bake. And my Dad gleefully took what I didn’t take, to give to his students this year when classes started up soon.

The boy plopped down across from me, reaching out to snag a pumpkin one. He took a bite, and then grabbed a second pumpkin before settling back into his seat, throwing his feet up to rest on the seat next to me, staring me down as he did so. I did the same with my own feet, and it was like a little bridge of legs. 

“So!” I started, setting the container back down in a free space. “I’m Ellie Croft, but you can call me whatever you want. I’m told I’m muggleborn.” I said it easily, no shame even when faced with a Slytherin, knowing their reputation. “Who are you?”

The boy didn’t offer his hands to shake, given their occupation holding his biscuits, but he did finally speak after swallowing the remainder of his first one. “Cassius Warrington.” 

He spoke bluntly, and I blinked owlishly at him. The name was familiar, tickling the edges of my mind, but I couldn’t place it. I shrugged it off. “Cool.” I carefully slipped my book into my trunk, and grabbed a chocolate biscuit for myself. “So, Slytherin right? Second year? You don’t look much older then me.” It was a guess, but Cassius’s eyes lit up a bit on his stoic face, and he nodded. 

“You know about Slytherin? I thought you said you were muggleborn?” 

“Oh I am, but Dad and Me went a bit wild in the bookstore and read a ton of it this summer. Gotta say, you have the second coolest mascot.”

Cassius glared at me for a second. “Second best?! Who’s first then? Gryffindor?” He sneered the name, house prejudice already settling into him it seemed.

“Nah,” I waved him off, “they’re last. Lions are so common, you know?” Cassius looked surprised at this, but I pushed on. “Nope, Hufflepuff has the coolest mascot.” 

“Hufflepuff?!” Cassius blubbered in outrage. I laughed. “Hey! Haven’t you ever heard of a Honey Badger? They’re the most fearless animal out there!” 

 

And just like that, a friendship cemented between a first year and a second year Slytherin, all started by some shared biscuits and elaborate stories about snakes and Honey Badgers, and the debate between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be attempting more regular updates, with longer chapters from now on, this one aside. Hopefully I can pull through for all of you.
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: Hey! I just wanted to give a special thanks to Saj_te_Gyuhyall for pointing out an error to me! I am incredibly grateful that they pointed out the issue to my silly ol'american self.


	5. Right on Track

Cassius and I had a good few minutes before anyone else came to our compartment. It was a good few minutes, and a very insightful few minutes at that. Cassius looked like a typical stereotyped Slytherin, his hair was black, shiny and smooth. His uniform perfectly tailored and tie done neatly. His eyes were hooded and brow furrowed, and he seemed to have perfected a glare of judgement already. Even as a boy who had so much growing to do, I could see Cassius’s broad shoulders and hands would point to him having a large stature to grow into. In a few years, I would bet that he would be intimidating to those opposed to him. But here, in this compartment he was a boy casually offered treats and companionship without judgement. Children could be cruel beyond measure, but they were also capable of great acceptance, as well as a great longing for said acceptance.

Children were sponges, and it would take more than two lives for me to outgrow my ability to spew words like a firehose when I wanted too.

“Honey Badger don’t care.” I stated firmly, arms crossed over my puffed-out chest, a smile on my lips. 

“That doesn’t make sense! You’re lying! No way a poof like a badger could survive a King Cobra bite!” Cassius aimed a kick for my leg, but I dodged by scrambling all of my limbs onto my seat, snickering. 

“I’m telling the honest truth! Honey Badger’s just sleep the venom off, and get up and get right back to eating the cobra!” I settled myself down cross legged as I spoke, shoes tucked carefully under me to try to keep the seat as clean as I could. “I mean, that’s not even the most unbelievable thing in our non-magical world today, to be honest.”

Cassius gave me another pointed look, but I just smiled back. He looked like he was going to say something, but the door to our compartment started to open and someone else looked in on us.

It was a boy, with gently brushed back brown hair and a narrow face. Having jerked to attention the moment I heard the door, I was prepared for the new kids entrance.

“Biscuit?”

It worked, of course.

“Do you intend to just offer a biscuit to everyone who opens that door?” Cassius asked with arms crossed, as the new boy sat beside him with cookie in hand.

I nodded. “That’s the plan, yeah. Figured the best way to ensure a nice train trip was to bribe anyone and everyone I possibly could. People tend to be much friendlier with free snacks on the line.”   
A beat. The two boys looked at each other, and seemed to exchange silent words. They turned back to look at me.

 

“That,” the new boy said, having polished off his biscuit, “is a...strangely Slytherin approach.” His speech was careful, as if each word was measured before it was spoken. Carefully brushing his palms free of crumbs, he reached out. 

“Luther Endicott, at your service.” I grasped his hand quickly, one firm shake and I was done, bringing my hand back to discreetly rub on the seat next to me.

“Ellie Croft, first generation witch and famed provider of baked goods.” I looked between them. “I’m going to make a guess that you two know each other?” 

Cassius nodded stiffly. “Ofcourse. Our fathers work together.” Luther nodded in agreement, tho he seemed to be fighting off a look as if he’d swallowed a sliver of lemon.

 

I hummed. “So, purebloods?” They blinked at me. I snorted. “Fathers work together? Formal speech and,” here I motioned to Luther, “taken aback at the realization that I’m muggleborn?”

Cassius shifted, eyeing the other boy, and Luther, knowing he’d been caught, flushed. “Forgive me then, if I’ve made a bad impression.” 

I waved him off. “Nah, no worries. I’ve already caught on to the whole blood status thing.”

“Blood status thing?” Cassius barked, his face scrunching up. 

 

“That thing, as you so elegantly put it, is an important part of our culture as respectable wizards!” Luther hissed, all puffed up.

Truth be told, if I hadn’t prepared for this, I normally would have been immediately intimidated into submission. Still, I summoned what steel I could find in my spine, and fired back.

“And a societal divide based on blood and birth was a major factor in the horrors of both YOUR wizarding wars, and the second World War.” Both the boys reared back as if they had been struck, but I pushed on, voice sharp with the past authority of having been a full adult once already.  
“From what I’ve seen in the short time I’ve known about the Wizarding World, I’ve caught on that your society places a higher value on blood status then the talents and qualifications of individual Wizards and Witches!” A pointed finger whipped out at just the right moment quieted any rebuttals before they could be voiced. “Purebloods jockey for high positions, and then favor new coming Purebloods, pushing aside Muggleborns and even Half-bloods!”

My posture shifted from aggressive to regretful, and my voice went from a harsh snap to a softer tone. “But more and more people are being born with access to magic, probably from mutations in their DNA or the combination of recessive genes passed on most likely from Squibs. More and more Muggleborns are coming into your society. What you don’t realize however, that that muggles have been fighting for rights and equality, and a thousand hosts of other things, for decades. We come into your society, and we’re blocked from properly integrating and rising up in the world by the Purebloods, because if there is one thing Muggles are good at, it’s producing change and advancement. Which causes you to lash back at us, because YOU value tradition. Thus, tension and hate breed like rabbits, causing Wars and loss of life.” 

Luther finally finds his voice, standing to his feet. “And what do you expect us to do?! Roll over and let..let...MUDBLOODS to taint our culture?”   
Cassius stands, arm reaching out to push Luther back into his seat with abrupt force, a fierce look in his eye, which he then turns on me. He is incredibly intimidating for a 12 year old

The slur hangs in the air like fog, but I let it roll over my shoulders, just this once. I haven’t moved from my seat, and my gaze is still steady on the boys. 

“No, I don’t.” I try to force a sense of calm into my voice, and it takes all my control to keep from twitching like a maniac, the stress from the hostile environment I’ve allowed to occur starting to strangle me, but they are children still, young and innocent still, despite their learned behaviours. I know my next words would be the most important.

“I would expect you to teach us.” Luther freezes, confused. Cassius just blinks, anger hidden in his eyes by the flicker of a question. “Hogwarts teaches us the skills and abilities of the Wizarding world, but who teaches the newcomers the culture? The importance and history behind it? Instead of fearing us changing you, you should teach us just WHO we have become by being born with magic. Make us excited about it, teach us to treasure it like you do, and in turn we will absorb it and pass it onto our own children. Yes, changes might happen by bringing our cultures together, but cultures change and evolve naturally anyway. Our values will mirror your own then, and you wouldn’t need to be so afraid of Muggleborns rising to higher stations, because by then they’ll understand what’s important.”

“..Teach you?” Cassius asks, eyes narrowed. But he wasn’t as hostile now, and neither was Luther. I could breath a little easier, and I pushed myself to act relaxed and at ease.

“Yeah, teach us. Slytherin’s are ambitious right? You should be all over this. It’s a chance to pass on your culture, and make connections and friends that could help you later in life. Plant the seeds, tend the garden, and add a little patience? The benefits you could reap one day are countless. You could be at the head of a societal revolution that you can help mold in the direction you want it, and leave everyone better for it in the end.”

I pick up my container of biscuits, still more than half full, and hold it out for them. Cassius looks hard at it, but takes one and sits down slowly, after a moment Luther takes another as well. I grin. “See? I get the chance to sit with some Purebloods on the train, ply you with treats, and then direct the conversation how I want it when your guard is lowered. Sure, voices got raised, but since we started out so well, you guys didn’t obliterate me when I opened my mouth!” I set the container down and pick up a treat for myself again.

“And now I can tell you’re considering the points I’ve made, and the tension has been,” I waved my biscuit hand, “mostly dissolved by virtue of careful words and a well placed peace offering.” I bit into my cookie.

Sweet, sweet victory. The utter terror under my skin only lessened the victory a tiny bit, but that was mostly irrelevant if they couldn’t tell. Suck on my acting skills, kiddos. I was typecast into characters with monologues in highschool one to many times to falter now in front of fucking eleven and twelve year olds.

 

Luther was sitting back in his seat, fumes of his anger still dispersing. But Cassius had a whole year of Slytherin under his belt, and he seemed to slip into cool and calculating from furious as simply as moving from one stride to the next, graceful as the snake he proudly was.

“You,” he said slowly, “are going to make a terrifying Slytherin, I think.

I laughed, loudly and easily, my face breaking into a grin. Cassius’ lips twitching into a playful smirk.

Luther huffed, and shoved the rest of his cookie into his mouth, looking out the window at the train station flooded with people, the last of the years students flooding into the train.

This, I thought, is progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my chapters are somewhat short, and I don't have the best time frame for chapter, but enjoy this. I have managed to flesh out my entire Hogwarts Class of 1990, all 52 of us. Houses and dorms have been assigned, plots have been vaguely outlined and ideas noted and documented to be worked on later. Now it's just on me to learn how to write longer chapters before feeling like I've written myself into a natural corner.


	6. Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoink

By time the train has begun to move, Luther had asked one question that started us off on the conversation that would last the train ride.

“...What’s DNA?”

Of course at this, I got very excited, exclaiming, “That’s right! Before you came, I was about to tell Cassius about the cool, but unbelievable things us Muggles have figured out!” I may or may not have been bouncing in my seat, and if I finally let my leg bounce in secret anxiety, well, they didn’t know what it meant so that was ok.

I brought out the sandwiches I made for the ride, and a couple disposable water bottles, and set everything up to be in easy reach for everybody. Cassius immediately grabbed a sandwich, so I took that as a point in my favor. Providing people with food was always a skill of mine. Nice to know it was eternally useful.

Nobody really bothered us after that, aside from the nice lady with the food trolley. The train was a long ride, but it was spent in somewhat good company. Luther spent most of the ride watching the countryside or dozing, so my conversation was mostly with Cassius. If Luther paid any attention to me after my first few sentences, he gave no indication. I didn’t push the issue.

 

I started everything off on my long winded rant about DNA, helped mostly by my own refresher during school in the past year, which branched off to reproduction and genes. Cassius listened in thoughtful silence, staring me down the whole time. He would ask questions here and there, and I would respond with everything I knew, even if it was barely anything. Of course, this led to my theories on magic as a gene, like having blonde hair or brown eyes.   
After that, I was shooting off my mouth about technology like phones, tv, animation, computers, which lead up to the space race and moon landing. This was where I really hooked Cassius. Biological science was one thing, but telling the older boy all about the physical things we could do or make without the use of magic boggled him. The isolation of the Magical World was phenomenal in how deep it went. Wizard’s were so disinterested in anything non-magical as a whole that common knowledge between the two was like night and day. He would occasionally counter something I had said with the magical equivalent, and we could then spend a few minutes debating the merits of each method, which required Cassius to open his mouth long enough to fully explain certain things and what he did know about the way they worked. 

When I had run out of things to tell him about that I felt were ok to talk about for a first meeting, I verbally poked and prodded Cassius until he told me about the Wizarding world. I didn’t ask for anything important in the long run, but I did push to see his perspective on the things he liked. 

I probably should have expected him to start off with Quidditch and his personal opinions on the current brooms on the market. I settled in, and took Cassius’ previous role of “listener with the occasional question”. The rest of the ride was spent like that, me settled into my seat listening to an excited 12 year old boy talk about sports. I idly wondered if he’d like rugby, or soccer. A project to revisit later, I thought.

 

I changed into my school robes when the sun began to set, the dimming lights casting a glow inside our cart that set the mood perfectly. The train pulled into the school’s station not long after, when the sun was gone the night sky was starting to light up with stars. I still had some cookies left, so I took the container and swiftly pushed it into Cassius’s arms before we left our compartment to exit the train. 

“Share them with the other Slytherins in your year! Give me the container later.” I explained, pushing my glasses back up my nose to settle them properly again. (I would never tire of doing the cliche-anime style of movement I employed when I adjusted my glasses.) I didn’t give him time to say no, as I slipped into the crowded hall, moving as quickly as I could to the doors. 

The air was crisp and cold, wind brushing along my cheeks pleasantly. It wasn’t quite time for the air to become bitter or harsh, so I cherished the moment. I breathed deeply, letting the scents in the air tingle my nose. Tree’s, some pine, and the smell of water, all present under the smoke and metal smell of the train. Well others pushed onwards to the carriages or Hagrid’s cries of “First Years! First Years over here!”, I stepped to the side to run my hand along the smooth side of the train, fingers trailing along the smooth metal.  
Where once before the magic had tingled like static, now it pulsed and twisted. It felt so much...brighter now, powerful, firm. It pushed against my hand like the rolling waters below the surface of the waves, spilling over from my palm until I could feel it on the back of my hand as well. I took a deep breath, stirring my own magic to push back against the train’s. I was happy, and so was the train. I swirled my magic til it was light, filled with my happiness and thanks, and gathered in my fingertips. Walking along the train slowly towards Hagrid’s summons, tapping my all my fingers at once as I went, pushing a little bit of magic with each tap. Ripples on the water. A Morse code made purely of emotions.

Magic was more alive than anyone gave it credit for, and I’d spent the wait for today playing with my own magic until it’s movements I could prompt with ease. 

 

Thank you. I said with each tap. It was wonderful. 

When I lingered between taps, I could feel the pulse of magic come back to me, warm and happy.

By time I’d taken my hand away to join the others gathering around the resident Half-Giant, I had the feeling that the train was...grateful, and perhaps just a little bit giddy, high off the feeling of happy magic. It would never cease to amaze me, just how deeply emotional and primal magic really was. However, a part of me knew it was different for me compared to others, my instinctual sensitivity to the magic giving me a glimpse behind the curtain so to speak. I felt sad, knowing my new yearmates wouldn’t feel the magic like I did.

I settled myself into the back of the crowd of children, peeking past shoulders and heads to the giant in front of us. Hagrid is just now walking off, a quick “This way to the boats, come’n now, follow me!” and a giant herd of first years scamper to follow the path laid out by legs much, much longer than their own. 

The boats are small, just big enough for 4 small children (or 1 giant), with a single post in the middle, holding a small lantern made of glass and twisted metal. A flame burns in the middle, seemingly suspended in mid air. Magic.

I enter one of the boats as the last kid, taking up the spot in the back of the boat. When I touch the wood, it feels nothing like the train. Oh yes, magic coats it, but it feels…well, not alive. Not like the train, where it pulsed and twisted. This is like a coat of varnish on the wood, just magical. One purpose, applied firmly. Go across the lake, nothing more. A puppet on strings. I try not to touch the boat with my bare skin after that first moment. 

The lake is dark at first, Hagrid saying nothing, and I’m not close enough to look for a sparkle of light in his eyes. I have no insight into this man, not from this far away. We’ve just begun the ride, and I reach over to trail my fingers in the cool water. Ah yes, there was the life, the magic. The water itself feels like water, but I can feel….traces of something, just tingling my fingers. I pull them back and focus my mind on the others in my boat with me. It’s like being the sole kid in the back of a van. Not close enough to be automatically involved in any conversation, having to butt in just to feel included. 

It’s a fun mental image. A bunch of kids in vans carpooling to school. Hah.

In my boat are two boys, sitting side by side, and a girl at the bow of the boat, leaning over eagerly. I lean forward, but all I hear are general comments of excitement and awe. I lean back, and say nothing.

 

The ride is everything the movies have made it out to be and more. The sight of light finally peeking out as we turn the only corner to pass the trees and get onto the open lake….it’s awe inspiring. A hulking giant just off the water, displaced from time. One can make out the stone workings in the dark, everything lit up by the warm glow that only comes when fire is involved. No light bulbs or artificial white glow of light. Just warm tones of amber, gold, red and orange, all dancing along to the blue and purple shades mingling in the shadows on the stone. 

My heart feels full to bursting, the image seared into my soul as surely as a brand is seared onto the side of a cattle. I am marked now, forever by this place I will live for seven long years. This will be the one thing tying me to nearly half (or more depending on other schooling options and whatnot) of Magical Britain's population. We will all grow and learn here, walk the same halls as generations of other students have.

 

A magical thread tying all of us, heart and soul, a mark of pride we will bear forever.

I take off my glasses, and look away. I wipe the tears from my eyes, a small child sat in the shadows at the back of a boat, crying tears of something I am only barely starting to really understand.


End file.
